


A Thousand Ways to Find Refuge

by iodhadh



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bull Doesn't Understand Feelings, Chaos Level: Bull's Chargers, Dorian Pavus's Brilliant Seduction Techniques, Feelings First, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8743222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iodhadh/pseuds/iodhadh
Summary: When the Iron Bull agrees to put up a recent Tevinter emigrant, he isn't expecting his life to change forever. But he wasn't counting on Dorian Pavus being so gorgeous—or so endearingly sharp-tongued. Even the Chargers seem to like him (though it's hard to tell, with Skinner). There's only one problem: Dorian is grateful to him, but not actually interested.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritingEmi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEmi/gifts).



> This was a wild ride from start to finish. I think the Chargers as a unit are my new favourite characters. Also, bonus points if you can figure out what movies I stole for this.
> 
> Many thanks to betas Jadis and Toft, and to the various and sundry friends who cheerled, wrote with me, and sympathized when I ran into unexpected technical difficulties. You know who you are.
> 
> Dear recip: I hope you like this, and happy holidays!

Bull was at work when he got the call.

He propped the phone on his shoulder, reaching across the desk for a memo pad. “Bull’s Chargers Catering, the Iron Bull speaking.”

“Hello, Bull,” said the rich female voice on the other end of the line. “This is Josephine Montilyet, from the Inquisition.”

“Josie, hey!” Bull said, sitting up. “How’s my favourite client?”

Josephine’s professionalism wasn’t quite enough to mask the undercurrent of amusement in her voice. “Don’t let Madame de Fer hear you say that. Aren’t you working her party this weekend?”

Bull winced. “Good point. You alright with being my second favourite client?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

“My hands are tied, you know how it is,” Bull said. “Anyway, what can I do for you? You got a job for me?”

“Not as such, no,” Josie said, and here her voice sounded slightly apologetic. “Actually, I was wondering if I might prevail upon you for help.”

“Shoot.”

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “I have a… recent arrival, from Tevinter. He has no contacts here and no place to stay, and certainly not enough savings to stay at a hotel for the length of time it would take him to find somewhere to live. I told him I’d ask if you were able to help.”

Bull frowned. “He can’t get housing through the refugee assistance program?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Josie said, sounding if possible even more apologetic. “There’s a catch, I’m afraid: he’s an Altus, fleeing personal circumstances rather than class oppression. I’ve verified his story and I have every confidence that he does qualify for political asylum, but he also managed to empty his savings account before his father could have it frozen.”

“Gotcha,” Bull said. “So he’s got enough that you can’t help him, but not enough to actually get by.”

“Precisely.”

Bull leaned back, scratching at the base of his horn. “I’d like to help,” he said, “but I’m not sure how I feel about having an upper class Vint at my place.”

“I’m aware I’m putting you in a difficult position, what with your history,” she agreed. “Rest assured that whatever you decide, it won’t affect your company’s relationship with the Inquisition. I simply thought—this man is a refugee from an oppressive country, just looking to start a new life. I must admit you were the first person I thought of.”

“You know, if you ever get tired of PR, you could probably find work toppling a few empires,” Bull said. “No, you’re right, I’d feel bad if I left him hanging. You sure he’s not going to have a problem bunking with a Tal-Vashoth?”

“He didn’t seem to have any particular ill feeling towards the Qunari,” Josephine said. “Nonetheless, I’ll warn him before I send him over.” She paused. “Between you and I, I think he’ll just be grateful of a place to stay, regardless.”

“I know how that goes,” Bull said. “Alright, send him over. I’ll make sure I’m home.”

“Are you still living on Amaranthine Street?”

“That’s the one.”

“Perfect. I’ll have someone drop him off in a couple of hours.” With her problem sorted, Josephine was all brisk efficiency again, and Bull could hear her sifting through papers on the other end of the line. “I’ll forward you his photo so you know who you’re expecting. This isn’t anything official, so you won’t be able to submit complaints through the formal channels, but if you have any serious trouble with him please let me know.”

“Sure,” Bull said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you for this, Bull,” she said. “Really.”

Bull laughed. “Hey, no worries. You guys were there for me three years ago. Might as well return the favour.”

“Take care, Bull.”

“You too, Josie.”

Bull set the phone back in its cradle and stood up, swinging open the door to his office. “Hey, Krem!” he bellowed.

“Yeah, Chief?” Krem returned, from somewhere amidst the steam and sizzle that was the Chargers’ kitchen in full swing.

“You got everything in hand for ma’am’s party? I need to take off.”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Krem said. “As long as you don’t change the menu on me again.”

“No promises.”

Krem stuck his head out of the kitchen, his expression aggrieved and long-suffering. “Go home, Chief,” he said. “Get out of my hair.”

Bull chuckled. “I’m going. See you tomorrow.”

Krem disappeared back into the kitchen without another word, and Bull sat back down to gather his notes. His computer pinged once, and he pulled up his email to find Josie’s promised photo—and just for a moment he had to stop and stare.

It was a Border Services photo, overexposed and set against a background of dingy, soul-crushing grey. The man in the picture looked like he’d been travelling for days: there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair and moustache were sadly limp, and the light was doing something awful to his complexion. But even in the photo’s harsh lighting, he was stunningly gorgeous—broad-shouldered, high-cheekboned, his eyes a brilliant crystal grey against dark skin, and despite the exhaustion evident in his frame there was something cocky in his expression. Bull had always had a weakness for cocky.

 _Dorian Pavus_ , the scanned file read below the photo, _Tevinter national, 30 years old. Reason for entry: political asylum._

“Well, this should be interesting,” Bull muttered, then shut his computer down.

* * *

As promised, Dorian arrived outside his apartment almost exactly two hours later, stepping out of an Inquisition car with a battered leather suitcase in hand and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Bull was waiting for him in the building entrance and he pushed the door open quickly; that stylish jacket looked far too thin for Ferelden in Harvestmere.

“You Dorian Pavus?” he said.

He clearly was—even with the difference of a decent night’s sleep and a chance to wash and style himself, there was no mistaking that face. In the light of day he was even more beautiful than Bull had expected.

Dorian’s eyes widened briefly in surprise as he looked up at the Bull, framed in the slightly-too-small doorway of his apartment building, and just kept looking up. “Maker’s breath,” he said. “Am I to assume you’re the Iron Bull? No, of course you must be, no one else could possibly live up to the name. I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so literal.”

Bull laughed. “I get that a lot.”

“Do you have to go through doors sideways?” Dorian said, in tones of horrified fascination. “Vishante kaffas, do your _shoulders_ even fit through doors straight on? Don’t answer that, I don’t think I could bear to hear the answer either way. Andraste’s tits.”

Bull just grinned at him. “Get that a lot, too,” he said. “Come on inside, it’s much warmer upstairs.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” Dorian said fervently.

Bull took Dorian’s suitcase and led him up to the stairs his third floor apartment. His place wasn’t large, but it was open, with high ceilings and only a partial wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the living spaces. He set the suitcase next to the couch. “Bathroom’s on the left, and my room is down the hall. Rest of it’s pretty much what you see—don’t actually use the dining area much, but it’s nice to have.”

“No hanging chandeliers, I see.”

Bull let out a snort of laughter. “That’s not a mistake you make more than once,” he said. “Come on, I’ve got you set up in the office.”

The office was a small room whose door opened onto the living area, with just enough space for a bookshelf, a desk and chair, and a fold-out couch. In addition to setting up the bed, Bull had spent the afternoon clearing out his old papers and filing them in three boxes he had stacked in the closet. “All yours,” he said. “I figured you’d probably be here for a while, and it’s always better to have a door you can close.”

Dorian was hovering in the doorway, one hand wrapped in an uncertain grip around the strap of his duffel. “I don’t want to impose,” he said hesitantly. “I’m sure you must have need of your office, I’d be happy to stay on the couch—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bull said. “Honestly, I use the couch more. Besides, everything important is in my office at the kitchen, or it’s digital anyway.”

“The kitchen?” Dorian said, his eyes flicking towards the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. Bull huffed a laugh.

“My work kitchen,” he explained. “I run a catering company, Bull’s Chargers. We’ve got a kitchen with some offices downtown.” He was proud of that kitchen. They’d moved in a year ago after having the place renovated and doubled their clientele in three months.

“ _You_ run a catering company?”

“Hey, we can’t all work security,” Bull said. “Honestly, I just sort of fell into it. But I love what I do, and it means I’ve always got leftovers, or trial runs of whatever experimental crap Rocky’s working on. You’re welcome to help yourself to anything in the fridge, by the way, but you might not want to.”

Dorian paused in slinging off his duffel. “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And if you need anything else, just ask.”

Dorian’s eyebrows hiked at that, and he smirked faintly as he unzipped his jacket. “Anything?”

“Hey, for a handsome guy like you?” Bull said, tipping his head as he deliberately blinked his eye. “Happy to provide.”

For a moment Dorian just stared at him, jacket forgotten, and then he put it together. “I’m sorry, did you just _wink_ at me?” he said, sounding halfway between outraged and amused. “You can’t just—it doesn’t work like that!”

“You got the message, didn’t you?”

“We are going to pretend the last ten seconds never happened,” Dorian said haughtily. “Though I will admit that if this is the welcome I get, the south must be far more interesting than it was ever given credit for in the Imperium.”

“I do what I can,” Bull said. He was beginning to formulate a pretty good picture of why Dorian had had to leave Tevinter.

“Your efforts are appreciated,” Dorian said, still haughty despite the small smile threatening to break through the façade. “And I’m certainly happy to avail myself of your catering services. As it happens I’m a regrettably awful cook.”

“No worries,” Bull said. “Honestly, it’s more food than I can eat half the time. Especially in the run-up to a big event—speaking of that, my schedule can be a bit weird sometimes, I’m out nights a lot, so I left my spare key in the desk.”

Dorian seemed a bit taken aback by that, blinking at him briefly before he spoke. “I’m surprised you’d trust me that much,” he said, his voice light.

Bull just shrugged. “Josie’s usually a pretty good judge of character,” he said. “Besides, we’ve got a big party in two days, so even if I wanted to be here to supervise you, it’s not gonna happen. Probably won’t see much of me until it’s over.”

“I suppose I shall just have to get by without you, then.”

“We always go out for brunch, day after a gig,” Bull said. “You’re welcome to come along, meet some new people, you know.”

Dorian hesitated. “I—thank you, I appreciate the offer, but I think I ought to avoid any unnecessary spending until I find work,” he said apologetically. “I don’t have that much savings.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bull said. “I’m paying for the whole table, one more won’t make a difference. Tradition.”

Dorian was silent for a long moment, looking down at the jacket he had laid across the bed Bull had laid out for him. “I have to wonder why you’re going to all this trouble,” he said. “You don’t even know me.”

“Sure,” Bull said. “Know your situation, though.” Dorian looked up, but didn’t say anything, so Bull continued, “I was in the same position after I left the Qun. I’d been here for a few years already, so I had more of a foothold than you, but it still changed a lot for me. My whole foundation, just gone.” He shrugged. “I didn’t qualify for refugee assistance, either, but Josie still helped me out. Like to pay it forward when I can.”

“Well,” Dorian said quietly, “I certainly appreciate it. And if you’re really so insistent on paying for me, I will join you for your traditional celebratory brunch.”

“Sounds good, big guy,” Bull said. “It’ll be fun.”

Dorian scoffed at the nickname, but despite himself he looked pleased. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, I could really do with some rest. It’s been a long few days.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I’ve gotta catch up on some paperwork anyway, I’ll leave you to it,” Bull said. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dorian said, flicking his eyes across Bull’s chest. “I certainly will.”

* * *

Dorian, Bull discovered, was absolutely delightful in the mornings—or, at least, hilariously grumpy and incoherently insistent in burrowing back down into his blankets, which came to pretty much the same thing. Bull dragged him out of bed at nine a.m., utterly cheerful in his lack of sympathy: as usual, Vivienne’s party hadn’t wound down until three in the morning, and what with cleanup, clearout, and storing the leftovers, Bull hadn’t got back to his apartment until nearly five. He’d crashed for four hours or so, then woken up in time to shower before bundling Dorian out the door to join the Chargers at brunch.

The boys were rowdy at baseline, but they were always at their worst the morning after a successful job. When they arrived at the Herald’s Rest, Cabot had just gestured them in, looking only slightly less disgruntled than Dorian at the fact that he was awake. Bull led the way to the back, where the Chargers had pushed two tables together and thrown all their coats in a pile on an extra chair. There was already a half-demolished plate of nachos in front of Dalish and Skinner, and a precarious stack of potato pancakes that could have been Rocky’s or Grim’s.

“What, I’m paying for your food and you can’t even be bothered to wait for me to show up?” Bull said. “I should fire every single one of you assholes.”

“Chief’s here!” Krem said, to cheers from the rest of the table.

Skinner’s voice cut through the hubbub. “Who’s the shem?”

Bull glanced down at Dorian, trying to gauge how he would react to that, but he seemed unperturbed. A good start. “This is Dorian Pavus,” Bull said. “He’s staying with me for a while. Dorian, this is my second, Krem, and that’s Dalish, Skinner, Rocky, Grim, and Stitches. We’ve also got a bunch of servers, but this is the main crew.”

“I’m not sure I want to ask how they all got those nicknames.”

“You picking up strays again, Chief?” Rocky interrupted.

Dorian opened his mouth to retort, but Dalish cut him off. “He doesn’t look much like a stray,” she said, eyeing Dorian’s jacket.

“He’s not,” Krem said, his voice as hard as his eyes as he stared Dorian down. “He’s a Tevinter Altus. Chief, why is he staying with you?”

“I got out of bed for this?” Dorian said. “No, no, go on, by all means, I’ve heard far worse.”

“He’s fine, Krem,” Bull said. “He’s new in town, I just thought it’d be nice for him to meet some people. He’s mostly harmless.”

“Excuse you, I am not _harmless_ , thank you very much—”

“Not really helping your case there, big guy,” Bull said, grinning.

Dorian huffed, but was once again cut off, this time by Stitches. “Stop flirting and sit down so we can order,” he said. “Some of us are hungry.”

“I make no promises,” Dorian said haughtily, but he pulled over an extra chair and sat down next to Rocky, picking up a menu.

Krem waited until Dorian was absorbed in critiquing the menu before leaning over to Bull. “Seriously, Chief, what’s going on?” he said in an undertone. “I know you like to adopt people, but an Altus?”

“Josie sent him to me,” Bull said, just as low. “Political asylum, but his status means he didn’t qualify for the refugee program. Don’t mention it to the others, I’m not sure he wants people to know.”

Krem’s eyes widened and he sat back, slightly mollified. “Do you know why?”

Bull shrugged. “Haven’t asked,” he said. “If he decides to tell me, that’s his business, but I’m not worried for now.”

“Andraste’s tits,” Krem said, in tones of deepest horror. “You _like_ him. Shit, Chief.”

“Like a lot of people.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Krem said. “Seriously, Chief, be careful with him. There’s a lot of bullshit going on with the Alti.”

“I know. Trust me,” Bull said. “I’ll be fine, Krem puff. We’ve been getting on pretty well so far. Try not to give him too much of a hard time, yeah?”

Krem raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment, just nodding to the other side of the table. “I don’t think I’ll need to.”

Bull turned to look. The seats around Dorian had erupted into chaos: Skinner had speared a potato pancake and was waving it threateningly in his face, Dalish had collapsed in laughter and was in danger of upsetting Stitches’ coffee, and Rocky was valiantly trying to protect the rest of the pancakes from Skinner’s wrath. Only Grim was looking unruffled, methodically stacking little cups of creamer into a tower despite the way the table was shaking.

Bull sighed. “I have to do everything around here,” he said, and went to separate the children.

* * *

When Bull came home from work on Monday evening, it was to find Dorian sitting cross-legged on the couch with an old laptop balanced on his legs, furrowing his brows intently and chewing on his thumbnail.

“You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep that up,” Bull said, balancing a box of leftovers from the kitchen in one hand while he took his boots off.

Dorian startled and looked up, his hand flying to his forehead. He made a disgusted sound, setting the laptop aside and shutting it with a decisive snap. “No, you’re quite right, the world certainly couldn’t stand to be deprived of my beauty like that,” he said. “Frankly I was sick of job-hunting anyway.”

“Been at it long?” Bull said sympathetically, hanging up his coat.

Dorian glanced at the kitchen clock and made another disgusted sound. “Four hours, apparently.”

“Shit sucks,” Bull agreed. “That’s why I started my own company. You hungry?” He hefted the takeout box. “Leftover gazpacho from ma’am’s party, and some botched sundried tomato pasta thing Rocky’s perfecting. Don’t worry,” he added hastily, seeing the expression on Dorian’s face, “the pasta’s fine, it just came out the wrong shape. And the soup makes a decent pasta sauce.”

“That sounds fantastic, actually,” Dorian said, getting up and following him into the kitchen. “To tell the truth, I forgot to eat earlier.”

“Help yourself, there’s lots,” Bull said, fishing two beers out of the fridge.

Dorian got two plates down from the cupboard and opened the box. “Are you certain your employees would approve of you feeding me?”

“Even if they didn’t, it’s not like they can stop me,” Bull said reasonably, heaping pasta onto his plate. “Pretty sure they like you, though.”

“Skinner tried to force-feed me a pancake using a _knife_.”

“Yeah, but she won’t actually stab you. Probably,” Bull said. “Trust me, they wouldn’t harass you like that if they hadn’t decided you were mostly alright.”

“I’m not sure that’s actually reassuring,” Dorian said.

By this point he had served himself a sizeable amount of pasta and spooned the leftover gazpacho over it in ample quantities. He picked up his plate and the beer Bull had got for him. “My thanks for the food. I’ll return you the use of your living room now.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” Bull protested. “I’m just going to put on a movie and veg out, no reason you can’t join me.”

“That does sound nice,” Dorian said. “I admit, I haven’t seen a lot of popular films from outside the Imperium—at least, not the original versions. Tevinter is rather overzealous about its censorship.”

“The Qun was the same,” Bull said. “Come on, I’ll show you one of my favourites.”

Dorian moved his laptop off the couch while Bull put the DVD on, and they settled on the couch with their plates on their laps and their beers in front of them on the coffee table. Dorian made a skeptical noise when Bull popped his open, pulling an exaggerated face at the first sip, but he also drank it without complaint, so Bull was going to count that as a win. He hummed along with the opening credits while Dorian eyed the CGI dubiously.

“How old is this film exactly?”

“Thirty years, give or take,” Bull said. “Some of the visuals are kind of dated, but it’s good, I promise. After the first few minutes you won’t even notice.”

Dorian looked unconvinced, but he refrained from comment for the opening of the movie—right up until the first demons showed up.

“Are those _puppets?_ ” he demanded, his tone so outraged that Bull couldn’t help the laughter that broke out of him.

“Yeah,” he said, when he could manage to speak again. “They weren’t exactly about to summon real shades for a movie. Just watch, this is where it starts getting good.”

Dorian managed to keep quiet for exactly three minutes, which was precisely the length of time to the antagonist’s first appearance.

“The _Demon King?_ ” he squawked. “Is that a _name?_ Kaffas, who came up with this plot? What is he supposed to be, Desire?”

“That or possibly Pride,” Bull said. “They leave it sort of ambiguous.”

“Well, he looks ridiculous either way,” Dorian said. “I can’t believe the costume department was— _that’s not how the Fade works!_ ”

There was no hope for the movie after that.

They were about a third of the way into the film—after Dorian had spent an entire musical number happily complaining about how a powerful demon singing to its minions made absolutely no sense—when Bull looked over to realize Dorian had shifted over until their legs were nearly touching. Dorian didn’t look up at him, apparently thoroughly absorbed in picking the movie apart, but there was something just a bit too offhanded about his posture.

Well, two could play at that game.

Bull leaned forward to set his empty plate on the coffee table, picking up his beer and shifting his weight enough that Dorian sank in towards him. He sat back, sipping at his beer and letting his other arm rest along the back of the couch. Dorian was just close enough that Bull could feel the soft knit of his cardigan brushing against his fingertips.

Dorian showed no sign of having noticed, which was sign enough in itself. “What in Andraste’s name are these spirits even supposed to be?” he said, gesturing at the TV. “Fine, the little one is obviously Valour, and the big one might be Compassion, I suppose, though it’s rather more dimwitted than one might expect, but what about the other one with the absurd name? Why is he even helping her?”

“Think he’s supposed to be Fear, actually,” Bull said. “Struggling to overcome his demonic nature, and all.”

Dorian sniffed contemptuously. “Did they even have a mage consult on this film?” he said, stabbing his finger at the DVD case to emphasize the point. “It makes absolutely no sense.”

And then, apparently done with his gesticulating, he let his hand settle casually on Bull’s thigh.

Bull glanced down at it, then up at him, eyebrow raised. “This seduction technique often work for you?”

Dorian huffed. “Oh, fine, if you’re going to be like that about it,” he said, and leaned in, pushing himself up on his knees to meet Bull’s lips.

Bull was waiting for him almost before he moved—caught him around the waist and pulled him in, nipping at his mouth and running his tongue along the bites. Dorian moaned at that and parted his lips, sinking down into his hold and digging his fingers into his shoulders, and yeah, Bull was into that. He was bigger than Dorian—he was bigger than everyone—but there was an incredible solidity to Dorian that he didn’t find often in human partners, let alone mages. He got the impression that Dorian wasn’t used to being the smaller man.

“Wow,” Bull said, when they finally broke for air. “I guess you’re really not into the movie, huh?”

Dorian laughed, pressing his mouth against Bull’s jaw. “It’s absolute rubbish,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m prepared to have sex with a man with the bad taste to call it _one of his favourites._ ”

“Insult a man’s favourite movie,” Bull said, tipping his head back. “Great way to get someone in bed.”

“It seems to be working quite well so far,” Dorian said, rolling his hips down against Bull’s.

Bull laughed, palming Dorian’s ass with both hands, revelling in the shudder that went through him at that. “I could turn it off, if you like.”

Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “No, by all means, leave it on,” he said, and leaned in to kiss him again.

“Slow down, big guy,” Bull said, between kisses that were dizzyingly, breathlessly deep. “We’ve got all night.”

“That is entirely true,” Dorian said, a wicked twist to his smile, “but I see absolutely no reason that means we have to slow down.”

Bull’s answering chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest, more felt than heard. “Damn,” he said. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“Please,” Dorian said, trailing his hand down Bull’s chest. “That’s the least I can do, what with you putting me up like this.”

And just like that, Bull’s blood went cold.

“Say that again,” he said.

“What?” Dorian said. “What’s wrong?”

“Dorian. Say that again.”

Dorian sat back, studying him uncertainly. “I said—it’s the least I can do, since you’re putting me up like this.”

“Okay,” Bull said, letting out a slow breath. “Okay. We’re not doing this.”

“What?” Dorian said. He sounded kind of stunned. “But—did you not want—”

“Not like this,” Bull said firmly, moving Dorian off his lap. He was trying to keep a grip on himself, but Dorian’s confusion was just making him feel worse. “If you thought that’s what I wanted—shit. I’ve definitely been doing something wrong. Look,” he said, squaring himself to face him, “I don’t want you paying me back with sex, or some shit like that. I’m not putting you up because I want you to _owe_ me. And if you’re doing this out of, of obligation—” He rubbed a hand across his eye. “I don’t want it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been flirting with you like that. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

Dorian wouldn’t meet his eyes. Slowly he got to his feet, twin points of shame burning in his cheeks, his arms held stiffly at his sides and his hands balled into fists.

“I apologize for my presumption,” he said quietly. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

And then, without another word, he turned and walked into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Bull was left staring blankly after him for long minutes, wondering just how he could have gone this wrong. Eventually he decided to shut off the movie, and went to bed.

* * *

“Hey, Chief, you got a minute?” Krem said.

Bull looked up from the menu he was planning to see his second hovering in the doorway. He sighed, rubbing his temples, and shoved his notebook aside. “Sure, Krem. I could use a break from this anyway. This about the de Launcet job?”

“Fuck the de Launcet job,” Krem said cheerfully, closing the door behind him and flinging himself into the chair on the other side of Bull’s desk. Then he sobered abruptly, folding his arms across his chest and inspecting Bull critically. “What’s going on, Chief?”

Bull blinked at him. “What do you mean, what’s going on?”

Krem rolled his eyes. “You’re moping.”

“Come on, Krem,” Bull said. “I’m not—”

“Chief. You’re _moping_. You’ve been moping all week.” He sat back, pegging Bull with a direct stare. “Did something happen with the Altus?”

Bull sighed. Alright, so Dorian had been avoiding him ever since their abysmally failed hookup, and he’d found to his surprise that he really missed the camaraderie. Still, _moping_ was taking it a bit far. “It’s fine, Krem,” he said. “It was my fault anyway. I’m just trying to give him some space.”

Krem squinted at him. “Right. Your fault. Sure. How about you tell me what actually happened?”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Bull shrugged, trying to put it out of his mind. “Yeah, it’s been a bit awkward, but Dorian will probably be moved out soon anyway. It’s not like he’d ever planned to stick around permanently.”

Krem pursed his lips, studying him intently, then sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Alright, fine—you don’t wanna talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it. But seriously, Chief, you’re not fooling anyone. The whole team’s been after me to find out what’s wrong for days. And Skinner’s been sharpening her knives again.”

“Skinner is not stabbing anyone,” Bull said firmly. “Tell them to quit worrying. It’s really not a big deal.”

“If you say so,” Krem said skeptically, but he walked out of the office and left Bull to plan menus in peace.

Bull didn’t think anything more of it until an hour and a half later, when he stepped out of his office to get lunch and Krem was nowhere to be found.

“You seen Krem?” he asked Grim. Grim just shrugged expressively.

“He’s been gone for almost an hour,” Dalish put in. “He said something about ‘the fucking de Launcet job’ and left. I thought you’d sent him somewhere.”

Since he and Krem hadn’t actually discussed the de Launcet job, Bull had his suspicions about that particular excuse, but he had his own work to do; he certainly didn’t have time to go haring off after his second. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m going to get lunch. Let me know if he comes back.”

Krem didn’t come back that afternoon, but he did call in and complain to Dalish about the de Launcets for ten minutes while she worked on their miniature pork pies, so Bull put his suspicions to rest. It was only when he got home that night and walked into the kitchen to find Dorian sitting nervously at his table that he considered that Krem may have pulled one over on him.

“That son of a bitch,” he said.

“Hello,” Dorian said. “Were you aware that Cremisius has a key to your apartment?”

“I knew he was up to something,” Bull said. “I take it he talked to you?”

“Talked _at_ , rather,” Dorian said. “He was quite insistent about it.”

Bull winced. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I told him to drop it.”

“So I was informed,” Dorian said. “There’s no need to apologize. In fact,” he said, and here took a deep breath, “I wanted to apologize to you. You have been nothing but kind to me, and it was unfair of me to shut you out because of a—a misunderstanding. I was quite mortified at my behaviour, but that’s no excuse.”

Bull didn’t want to question the rush of relief he felt at that, so he didn’t; it was enough to know that Dorian wasn’t planning on avoiding him anymore. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just wanted to give you your space.”

“Yes, well,” Dorian said. “If not for Cremisius haranguing me about your emotional state I would have kept right on assuming you’d have preferred not to see me at all. I confess I’m rather relieved to hear you don’t hold it against me.” He got to his feet, hands flexing restlessly at his sides for want of something to do. “Though, I have to ask—what now?”

“Well,” Bull said, “I’d like to be friends, if that’s possible.”

For a moment Dorian said nothing, then he let out a rueful little laugh. “I’m afraid I’m a bit out of my depth here,” he said. “In Tevinter one doesn’t maintain relationships with those one has liaisons with. Open friendship with a paramour?” he said, in tones of deepest shock. He shook his head. “No, that simply wouldn’t do.”

“Yeah?” Bull said, starting to grin. “What about a failed seduction?”

Dorian gave him a startled glance, then saw his face and started smiling in return. “If you’re very lucky,” he said, “you’ll come to an unspoken agreement to pretend it never happened, and then simply never speak to each other again.”

“Would you mind if we skipped that part?” Bull said. “I’d rather keep talking to you, if it’s all the same.”

“I must admit, I don’t have a great deal of experience with simple friendship—”

“Tevinter,” Bull muttered.

“Indeed,” Dorian said. “But I’m not in Tevinter anymore. That was, in fact, rather the point.” He offered Bull a tentative smile, squaring his shoulders and taking an unconscious half-step towards him. “So I’d like to try.”

Bull couldn’t stop the smile from breaking out over his face, and to tell the truth he didn’t even try. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

“I’m glad,” Dorian said. “Now, let’s put this last week behind us, shall we? I would certainly be happy to pretend _that_ never happened.”

“Already done,” Bull said. “Now, I’m gonna make dinner. Wanna help? You’ll have to learn to cook sometime.”

Dorian heaved a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Very well, what are you going to inflict upon me?”

They ended up making an omelette. Bull directed Dorian through chopping vegetables and grating cheese while he prepared the eggs, and Dorian told him about the job interview he’d been to the day before.

“I have a good feeling about it,” he said. “It’s a position as junior library assistant at Skyhold University—not the calibre of intellectual stimulation I was used to in the Imperium, but one makes do.” He scraped a diced red pepper off his cutting board and into a bowl, handing it over to Bull, and added, “Hopefully it’ll give me the connections to find a more research-oriented position later. And if nothing else, it pays my living expenses.”

“Always good,” Bull agreed. “Hope it works out. And hey, if it does, maybe we’ll see each other at work. Chargers do catering for university events sometimes.”

“That would be nice,” Dorian said, starting on the mushrooms. “I’d like to hold onto what few friends I do have, if possible.” He paused, considering, then said, “And I hope Cremisius can forgive me for, quote, ‘denting your giant squishy marshmallow heart,’ end quote.”

Bull had long ago given up on convincing Krem that his heart was perfectly sturdy and not remotely composed of confectionery, so he let that one pass without comment. “He’ll come around,” he said instead.

“Good,” Dorian said firmly. “One such lecture was more than enough for one lifetime. I’d rather not endure a second.”

* * *

“The entire Fereldan countryside,” Dorian announced, “deserves to be taken out back and shot.”

Bull looked up from his book to see Dorian standing in the doorway, covered in snow and looking extremely offended. In the last few days the weather had dipped well below freezing and stayed there, and apparently no one had warned the Tevinter emigrant that the condensation from his breath might freeze over on his moustache.

Biting back a laugh, Bull said, “Had a rough day?”

“The snow was bad enough when it was merely covering the ground and making offensive crunching noises,” Dorian said, now struggling with his boots. The fact that he hadn’t taken his gloves off probably wasn’t helping, but Bull wasn’t about to tell him that. “But now it’s turned to powder, and it picks up with the slightest bit of wind and seems to aim itself directly for my face. Praise the Maker that I at least found a better coat within my price range last week.” He pulled the coat in question from his shoulders, practically hurling it at the coatrack. “Now if only the wind didn’t insist on sneaking through every last crack it can find in the stitching.”

“I guess it doesn’t help to say it’s only going to get worse.”

“No it most certainly does not!” Dorian snapped, and Bull had to bite back another bark of laughter.

But Dorian wasn’t done. “And as if the weather wasn’t miserable enough, work seems determined to exasperate me as well. They keep changing my schedule and I never have enough to do and I am _sick to death_ of shelving books. My only saving grace is Sera, who has now escalated her prank war against our boss to filling his desk with balloons.” He flashed a satisfied smile. “He still hasn’t figured out who it is.”

Dorian had been raving about his new coworker since nearly day one. From what Bull could tell, her chief virtue seemed to be that she didn’t put up with any of his shit; that she had also dumped him headfirst into Ferelden’s gay culture came in close second. Bull was greatly looking forward to meeting her.

But even Sera, apparently, wasn’t enough to redeem the day. “And to top it all off,” Dorian continued, a sudden weariness creeping into his tone, “I called that apartment before I came home, and it seems the landlord has declined to rent to me. Who would have guessed that having no rental history, no references, and only three accumulated weeks of low-paying shift work would prove such an obstacle?”

“Aw, shit, Dorian, I’m sorry,” Bull said. His urge to laugh had entirely vanished; Dorian sounded miserable. “You’ll find something. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said. “I really do mean that. I’m simply—one tires of feeling one depends on charity.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bull said. “You’ll get there.”

Dorian just sighed. “I think I’m going to go drown myself in the shower until I’ve quite used up the hot water.”

“Sounds like a plan, big guy.”

Bull went back to his book, but found his ear being drawn by the sound of Dorian rattling around in the bathroom. When the water came on, he laid the book across his stomach, staring up at the ceiling as he considered his options.

Things had been good, the last few weeks. There had been a few awkward missteps as Dorian fumbled his way towards friendship, and there were still times Bull caught himself about to answer him with some innuendo or idle flirtation, but on the whole things were working out well. Better than well. Bull had been surprised at just how nice it was to have someone around to talk to at home, and he had a suspicion that telling Dorian about his day was rapidly becoming the best part of it. And the more Dorian let his guard down, the more his more his practiced charm turned to acidic wit, which Bull found perversely endearing. It was amazing how quickly Dorian’s presence had become a fixture in his life.

He waited until Dorian had opened the bathroom door before calling, “Hey, Dorian, I might have an idea.”

“Just a moment, if you please,” came Dorian’s voice, slightly muffled. A moment later he appeared around the corner. He had pulled on a pair of socks, deep grey pyjama pants, and a soft sweatshirt, and his hair, now damp and unstyled, was curling attractively down his forehead, and for a moment all Bull could feel when he looked at him was an utter, aching fondness.

“Now, what was that you were—” Dorian stopped, looking briefly like he had walked into a wall. “What in the name of Andraste’s flaming arse are you _wearing?_ ”

Bull looked down at himself, taking inventory of his clothing: an old shirt from the kitchen, worn and slightly too tight and emblazoned with “Bull’s Chargers: We Take the Bull By the Horns,” a pair of extremely fluffy slippers, and a pair of sweatpants in a shade of pink that was admittedly a bit eye-searing. “What?” he said.

“Bull,” Dorian said, enunciating every syllable, “you look ridiculous.”

“It’s comfortable!” Bull protested, then grinned. “It’s also warm.”

“That shirt cannot _possibly_ be warm,” Dorian said. “It’s so old it’s practically see-through. It’s going to start falling apart right before my eyes, I just know it.”

“Nah, it’s fine, look,” Bull said, flexing in demonstration.

Dorian’s eyes went wide, and then he turned them heavenward. “Vishante kaffas,” he said. “Bull, stop that, your shirt is going to burst at the seams.” With an effort, he composed himself, looking back at Bull. “Now, what was it that you were trying to say while I still had a towel on my head?”

“Right, okay,” Bull said, sitting up. “I was thinking—your apartment situation.” He took a deep breath. “If you wanted to, I mean—you’d be welcome to stay here.”

Whatever Dorian had anticipated, it hadn’t been that. “What? I—Bull, don’t be absurd, I can’t just—”

“I mean I could have the lease amended,” Bull said, forging on over Dorian’s confused babble. “The landlord likes me, she’d do it no problem. You could start paying part of the rent,” he said. “That way you can stop stressing about it, and then when you do decide to move out you’ll have a rental history and references.”

For a moment Dorian seemed at a complete loss. “Bull,” he said finally, “not that that isn’t a very generous offer, but I couldn’t possibly—I’ve imposed on your hospitality for far too long already, and I certainly do not intend to take over your home office on a permanent basis.”

“I don’t give a shit about the office,” Bull said. “Seriously, I wasn’t using it, it’s fine. Dorian, I like you. I like living with you. You don’t need to rush to move out for my sake. And if you’re gonna be staying anyway, we might as well just formalize it.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Dorian said, a touch helplessly. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

“Dorian,” Bull said. “I’m not doing this out of charity. I wouldn’t be making this offer if I didn’t mean it.”

“Wait,” Dorian said. “Hold on. Are you saying you _want_ me to be your roommate?”

Bull shrugged, a touch uncomfortably. “Well… yeah,” he said. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

Dorian blinked at him once, then recovered himself, tossing his head haughtily. “Of course not,” he said. “After all, I’m magnificent. Very well, I accept your offer. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Bull said solemnly, fighting to contain his grin. “I’ll give the landlord a call on Monday to get started on the paperwork. Josie, too. She’d want to know.”

Over the course of the next week, they started picking up furniture and little bits of decor to start turning Dorian’s office room into an actual bedroom. By Wednesday the Chargers had caught wind of their plan and started bringing in pieces of their own; by Friday, with the arrival of an ornate full-length mirror Rocky had somehow contrived to drag into the kitchen, Bull had to ban them from offering any more furnishings.

Not to be put off, the entire crew invaded the apartment the next afternoon, led by Krem and his illicit spare key. Dorian watched in bemused wonder as the Chargers proceeded to drag everything out of his bedroom, put together his new bed, and set to rearranging the entire living space to make room for the former office furniture in the living room.

Slowly they got Dorian’s room cobbled together, shoving and shouting all the way. Grim hammered nails and hung pictures where directed; Dalish and Skinner disappeared; Krem and Rocky, having discovered that they couldn’t fit Dorian’s newly assembled bedframe through the door, disassembled it with much swearing and dragged the pieces into the room to do it all over again. Stitches yelled at them for messing around with the drill without proper safety equipment and then, in a somewhat counterproductive measure, threw the goggles at Krem’s head. When Dalish and Skinner came back from what turned out to be the grocery store with six bags of chips, a case of beer, and a box of cookies the size of the TV, Bull decided to give up and order pizza.

By the time it arrived, they had started putting the living room back in order, but that was rapidly derailed when Dalish found the linen closet and started dragging out sheets one by one to pin over both the couches. Dorian emerged from his room to find the entire team, including Bull, enthusiastically building a blanket fort across the entire living room. For a moment it looked like he was about to turn around and walk right back out, but then he threw up his hands and asked for a blanket of his own. They ate pizza and chips on the living room floor to the accompaniment of the first Pirates of Rialto Bay film—Dorian and Krem jointly heckling the portrayal of the Tevinter navy all the while.

It was nearly one in the morning by the time Bull and Dorian managed to chase the Chargers home. While Bull collected beer cans and discarded chip bags, Dorian extracted one of the couches from its covering of blankets and collapsed onto it, groaning.

“I must be getting old,” he said. “Time was I’d be out to the dawn drinking and then in class five hours later none the worse for wear. This is pathetic.”

Bull laughed, sinking into a seat next to him. “How was that for a housewarming party?”

“Maker’s breath,” Dorian said. “Everyone I know in this country is an absolute menace.”

“So, you liked it, then.”

Dorian heaved a sigh. “Much as it pains me to admit it, I did,” he said. He rolled his head sideways, turning to look at Bull with a gentle smile that entirely belied his tone. “Thank you for all of this,” he said. “I never could have expected this from coming south.”

Bull wanted to make a joke of that, but somehow he couldn’t think what to say. “Hey, glad to help,” he said instead, his voice coming out far softer than intended.

“I thought—” Dorian said, lifting his hand in a helpless gesture. “I expected to end up miserably alone and barely scraping by with no friends and no idea how to meet anyone. And, don’t mistake me,” he added quickly, “even that would have been worth getting away from my father. But this is so much better than I could have imagined. Even if—” He faltered briefly, looking somehow lost, then shook his head resolutely. “Well, in any case. Thank you, Bull.”

For a moment all Bull could do was wonder at what he had been going to say. Then he realized abruptly just how close they were, just how soft and open the look on Dorian’s face and—shit, he really wanted to kiss him.

Oh, this was going to be bad.

He swallowed hard, sitting back and trying to centre himself. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said. His voice sounded a little odd to him, but hopefully Dorian wouldn’t notice. “You deserve it, big guy, really. It’s nice to see you with friends.”

For a moment it seemed like Dorian was about to say something, but then he just shook his head with an aggrieved sigh. “That may be, but if Dalish is going to continue jumping on my new bed, I may just have to revise that assessment.”

Bull laughed. “You big softie. You don’t mean a word of that.”

Dorian waved him off. “Speaking of bed,” he said, as if Bull hadn’t spoken, “it’s late, and I have work tomorrow. I think I shall go make use of mine.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Bull said. “Night, Dorian.”

“Goodnight, Bull.”

Dorian went to bed, and Bull busied himself for a while with tidying up the living room. When he decided he’d done all he could for now, he went into the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He caught his own eye in the mirror when he lifted his head, and for a long moment he just stared at himself.

“It’s a stupid idea,” he said finally. “He never really wanted you. Just leave it alone.”

* * *

Bull’s text alert went off in the middle of a race.

“Do _not_ answer that,” Dorian ordered. “When I beat you it is going to be because I won, not because you stopped in the middle of a game to answer your phone.”

“I’m not stopping in the _middle_ of anything,” Bull said, and sailed across the finish line.

He had decided to introduce Dorian to Mario Kart. Unsurprisingly, Dorian was astonishingly bad at it, and even less surprisingly, he was utterly incensed by that fact.

“You could _not_ have gotten that far ahead!” Dorian said, outraged. “How did you—fuck you.”

Bull just laughed, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the text. It was Krem: _Herald’s Rest doing ribfest special for Firstday week_ , it read. _You in?_

 _Shit yes_ , Bull returned. _Can’t wait to see how Dorian deals with the mess._

Krem’s answer was immediate. _Yeah, sure, bring your boyfriend, it’ll be fun. Skinner can threaten him with food again._

Bull stared at his phone for so long that Dorian asked what was wrong. Shaking himself, he said, “Nothing,” and typed back, _He’s not my boyfriend._

There was a pause before Krem answered; trying to ignore the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, Bull put his phone down to play another round in the meantime. Once again, Dorian lost spectacularly, swearing at Bull, the NPCs, the track, the hazards, and Tevinter’s stringent restrictions on imported media all the while.

Bull checked his phone again. _I thought you two worked things out when I went to talk to him_ , Krem said. _Isn’t that why you asked him to move in?_

Bull’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long moment before he managed to write a response. _You must have misunderstood_ , he said. _Dorian wanted to repay me for putting him up. We worked THAT out._ Then, as an afterthought, he added, _He’s not actually into me._

 _Don’t bullshit me, Chief_ , Krem replied, followed immediately by a second text: _That’s not a pun, don’t you dare turn it into a pun._

 _It’s not bullshit_ , Bull said. _We’re just not dating._

He set his phone down again and went back to the game, hoping Krem would drop it. He shouldn’t have bothered: halfway through the next race, his phone started ringing.

“Vishante kaffas, what now?”

“Ignore it,” Bull said. “It’s just Krem.”

Dorian shot a glance his way, nearly crashing into a wall in the process. “It could be important.”

“It’s not,” Bull assured him. “Let’s keep playing.”

His phone stopped ringing when he didn’t answer it, but started up again almost immediately. After the third time, Dorian made an exasperated noise.

“Just go talk to him,” he said. “He’s obviously not going to leave you alone until you do. I wouldn’t put it past him to drive over here and break down our door.”

“You don’t mind?”

Dorian waved a hand grandiosely. “Please, by all means. I can practice against the computer for a time, and perhaps not get my arse kicked quite so dismally.”

“Good luck,” Bull said. “Be right back.”

He stepped into his room and closed the door before answering the call, putting the phone to his ear and saying, “Just drop it, Krem.”

“Not a chance, Chief,” Krem said. “Also, not a chance Dorian was just trying to repay you.”

“Well, he was,” Bull said, struggling to keep his voice under control. He could hear Dorian yelling at the TV through his door. “It’s over, we’re past it. Drop it.”

“Chief, he’s into you,” Krem insisted. “Like, really, obviously, blatantly into you. So blatantly into you that we all thought you were in a fucking relationship already, you idiot.”

Bull opened his mouth and found that he had nothing to say. “I’m sorry, what?” he managed finally.

Krem was relentless. “Did he actually _say_ he was only interested in repaying you?”

“Course he did,” Bull said. It still stung. “Why do you think I stopped it?”

“Not what I meant, Chief,” Krem said. “I meant when you were talking it out. Did he say so, straight out? Or did you just assume, when he said he wanted to thank you, that he _only_ wanted to thank you? Dorian talks shit literally all the time. Can you seriously tell me you are one hundred percent certain he’s _not_ interested?”

“I,” Bull began, and then had to stop. “I thought I could.”

“Chief,” Krem repeated, “he’s into you.”

Bull sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “And if he’s not?” he said, fighting to contain the plaintive edge he could feel trying to creep into his voice. “We just got him officially moved in a few weeks ago. Okay, so I’m not putting him up anymore, but now we’re on a lease together. How awkward would things get if I brought it up again?” He shook his head. “Better not to say anything. He’s happy.”

“Don’t you dare,” Krem said, and now he sounded angry for the first time in this conversation. “Chief, I mean it, don’t you dare—I know you’re used to setting aside what you want for other people, but not this time. Even if he’s not into you, which he is, so it’s irrelevant, you deserve to be happy too. Do you seriously think you could be happy just pretending to be friends for the rest of your life?”

“He is my friend,” Bull protested. “I wouldn’t be pretending anything.”

“You would be,” Krem said, “if you tried to pretend you were _only_ friends, and you know it.”

“Krem, what are you talking about?”

He can practically hear his second rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. “Bull. Seriously?” he said. “You’ve known each other for all of two months and you’re basically married already. I know you’ve slept with a lot of people, and you tend to get sentimental, but you’ve never been attached to your partners like this.”

“Come on, Krem, it’s not—”

But Krem wasn’t listening. “Talk to the Altus, Chief,” he said, “or I’ll make you do it.”

And then he hung up.

Bull stared at his phone for a long moment before putting it back in his pocket. He felt like he was in a daze, and that more than anything else was what told him he was going to go through with it. Slowly, he got to his feet, and pulled open the door to his room.

He found Dorian cursing at the TV, evidently having had no more luck against the computer than he had against Bull himself. He barely spared a glance when Bull walked back into the room.

“What was that about?” he said. “It certainly sounded important.”

Bull didn’t say anything, completely at a loss.

“Bull?” Dorian said, and then, “Kaffas, again? I hate this game.”

Bull still couldn’t find his voice, and at last Dorian seemed to realize something was wrong. He looked up, seeing Bull still hovering uncertainly at the end of the couch, and stood up, his controller forgotten. “Bull? What’s going on?”

“That night,” Bull said suddenly, “when you said you wanted to thank me for putting you up—did you really mean that?”

Dorian sputtered. “This is what you were talking about? Maker’s breath, Bull, why are you bringing this up now? I thought we’d moved past it.” He pulled a face, then looked away. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather leave my awkward failed attempt at seduction in the past, where it can’t embarrass me. You made it perfectly clear that you weren’t interested.”

Bull’s head spun. “I never said that.”

“What?” Dorian said. “Of course you did, you told me that—”

“That I didn’t want it if you felt like you had to pay me back with sex,” Bull said. “So now I’m asking you, were you actually interested, or did you just think that was what I wanted?”

Dorian stared at him, mouth working incoherently for several long seconds. “Are you joking?” he demanded. “Have you looked at yourself in a mirror recently? Of course I was interested!” he said, gesturing violently at Bull. “You were the one who stopped, and made me think you didn’t actually want to sleep with me after all, and here I was thinking I had committed a horrible faux pas by trying to seduce the man who was so generously sharing his home with me, and, _Andraste’s tits_ , Bull, if we could have been having incredible sex _this entire time_ , so help me—”

That was as far as he got: by that point Bull had leaned down to kiss him. Dorian responded immediately, surging up into it and winding his arms around his shoulders. Bull pulled him in close, hands firm on his waist, and Dorian bent his back into the curve of Bull’s body, kissing him back fervently.

Abruptly he pulled back, thumping his hand against Bull’s chest. “Your shoulders are preposterous,” he said. “In fact, your entire physique is ridiculous. Do you have any idea how much you’ve been tormenting me by walking around in those absurdly tight shirts? I thought I was going to die when you flexed in one.”

“It’s not my fault,” Bull said. He couldn’t stop grinning. “All shirts are tight on me. And you’re hardly one to talk, I’m not even sure how you fit into some of your jeans.”

“Well,” Dorian said. “I’m glad we worked this out, then. It’s a shame we didn’t manage it until after I bought a new bed.”

Bull just laughed. “I guess that means we have two rooms to choose from.”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Speaking of which.” And he wrapped his hand around Bull’s horn to pull him back down into a kiss.

* * *

Bull texted Krem later that night. _Okay_ , he said, _you were right._

The response came two minutes later. _Maker’s balls, Chief, I was ASLEEP_ , Krem said. And then, a second text: _Told you so._


End file.
